FALA FARSI? NOTES ON MULTI-LINGUAL PRACTICES FOR GOA

By

DALE LUIS MENEZES & VISHVESH KANDOLKAR

The indefinite hunger strike of Savio Lopes and members of Forum for Rights of Children to Education (FORCE) for government grants to English as Medium of Instruction (MoI) have exposed the shallow and undemocratic language politics – under the guise of ‘mother tongue’, ‘Goan identity’, ‘Konkani’, ‘Marathi’, etc – in Goa. While arguing for a robust multi-lingual outlook as well, we would like to open up the conversation to a host of other languages that Goans can profitably engage with.

Arguably, when one talks about expanding the access to languages other than Konkani, Marathi, and English, the obvious choice that immediately comes to mind is Portuguese. The importance of the Portuguese language for Goa cannot be understated. Briefly, since a lot of legal and historical/archival material is available in Portuguese, a good grasp on this language would help thousands of Goans to access their own history. Further, as matters relating to land and properties are recorded in Portuguese being conversant with the language will help many to access this information, thus preventing frauds through fudging. Though, familiarity with the Portuguese language may not instantly result in overcoming the balance of power between the have and have-nots, learning it has a potential of creating a more level playing field. This is because in Goa, Portuguese as a language – then and now – was the preserve of a few elites, which allowed them to hold onto power and privilege.

The condition of the access to the Portuguese language, historically, is not so different from that of the English language today. The large non-elite population of Goa (across religious lines) demands English as MoI as it seems to be the preserve of the few; the rich can afford the exorbitant fees of private institutions. Therefore ending this monopolistic and hegemonic hold that a few people have over languages can lead to the emancipation of the have-nots by giving them access to power, privilege, and least of all, respectable employment.

To further open up the conversation about languages that can help us understand Goan history, we would like to suggest that Persian or Farsi is also very important. The territories that came to be known as Goa from the fifteenth-century onwards were part of the Deccan Sultanate and can be said to live in its cultural, and political, shadow. In fact, before Portuguese intervention, Persian (as well as Arabic) terminology was much in use for legal, administrative, and taxation matters in the territory which became Goa and it continued to do so even during the subsequent Portuguese period. Moreover, Goa was in a constant interaction with the cultural and political hubs of the Deccan, such as Bijapur and Golconda.

Along with Persian, a case can also be made for acquiring skills in Arabic. Given the decades old migration of Goans in the Arab world, teaching Arabic in schools may also be useful. Further learning to read and write the Perso-Arabic script may also help many to access Konkani written in that script in pockets across the Konkan and Canara coasts!

Sign language, although not a spoken language might also be useful as it might help us interact with people with hearing handicap. This suggestion might seem out of context but it does help us to extend the idea that many people who understand sign languages consider those who don’t as handicapped, and why not. Of course there are cognitive benefits of learning a sign language for all children, but the larger concern is that the learning for, and communicating with, people with disabilities, is completely ignored in Goa.

The article thus far has made reference to a number of ways in which Goans can engage with multiple languages. To take this point forward, we would like to suggest that contrary to the rhetoric of groups like the Bharati Bhasha Suraksha Manch, identity is not tied to a singular language or ‘mother tongue’. To demonstrate this, we would like to make reference to the literary career of the Goan writer Laxmanrao Sardesai (1904-1986).

As Paul Melo e Castro writes in his essay ‘Of Prison Walls and Barroom Brawls…’ (2012), for most of his literary career Sardesai wrote in Marathi, with most of his stories being “anti-colonial, a bold stance when Salazarist propaganda depicted Goa as part and parcel of Portugal” (p. 128).  Having started his literary career by the 1930s, despite being considered an eminent Marathi writer, Sardesai shifted to writing in Portuguese and Konkani from the 1960s. As Castro explains, Sardesai wanted to craft a different identity for Goa to oppose the merger with Maharashtra. As such “Sardesai’s turn to writing in Portuguese (and Konkani) after a lifetime of renown as a Marathi writer” (p. 130) was a demonstration of the unique singularity of Goan identity within the Indian nation.

Today, none would dare to suggest that there were any contradictions in Sardesai’s choices; neither would anybody argue that he was ‘denationalized’. What is important to note is that Sardesai could choose from a pool of languages, which he learned due to his privileged background. It is this privilege of choice that needs to be opened up to the Goan masses as well.

(First published in O Heraldo, dt: 19 August, 2015)

THE POLITICS OF LANGUAGE AND GOA’S TRAGEDY

With the Forum for Rights of Children to Education (FORCE) commencing an indefinite hunger strike to make governmental aid to English medium schools as part of a law, the often ugly linguistic politics in Goa looks poised for another round of jousting. Things seem to have settled down a bit with FORCE receiving written assurance from some MLAs that the matter will be resolved in the next assembly session. But as assurances and promises go from those in power, there is no reason to celebrate right now. Nothing is clearly stated whether the Bill on the Medium of Instruction (MoI) would be passed and made into a law. The opposition to the demands of FORCE came from activists clustered together under the Bharati Bhasha Suraksha Manch (BBSM).

The different constituents in Goan polity should see to it that the rightful demands of FORCE are taken to their logical conclusion. While we agree to the legitimacy of the demands by FORCE, and the right of parents to decide the future of their children, it is also important to consider the politics of language in Goa in a holistic manner. To be clear right from the beginning, language politics in Goa is not just centered around the opposition of Konkani and Marathi. It is much more complex as contestations of scripts, such as the Romi-Nagri issue, are as important as contestations regarding languages in deciding the political fates of the people of Goa. Thus, much of the rhetoric of BBSM-type of activists misguide the people owing to the ignorance of such complexities.

Primarily, there are three agitating groups that form part of the dominant linguistic politics of Goa: the Marathi language supporters, the Romi Konkani supporters, and the Nagri Konkani supporters. The boundaries of these groups are not necessarily fixed, as is seen in Marathi language and Nagri Konkani script supporters teaming up to form the umbrella organization of BBSM. Almost all of the Nagri Konkani activists have been vociferously against the implementation of English as MoI in government-aided primary schools. This is not surprising given the hegemonic hold of Nagri Konkani activists in politics as well as the many governmental institutions and bodies that make and direct the language and pedagogic policies in Goa. Furthermore, these governmental bodies jealously guard literary and cultural awards, as was seen when Nagri script supporters opposed the move by Kala Academy to restart literary awards for Romi Konkani writings. While the Nagri Konkani supporters would never give-in to the demands of equal recognition to the Romi script, they would occasionally ally with some Marathi language activists in order to check the mobilization of Romi script activists.

The MoI controversy and the demand for English in primary schools did put the activists of the Romi script in a somewhat uncomfortable situation. This was so because while on the one hand Romi script supporters were standing firm behind the demand for equality, on the other hand they had to be careful to avoid being accused of abandoning the cause of Konkani, and the Goan identity constructed around the Konkani language. The Roman script activists had also to make sure that the constituency of Romi script supporters does not see them as aligning in any way with Marathi language activists as well. Within the language politics, Romi script supporters are shown the bogeyman of Marathi taking over Goa, in the sense that it is made out to be a problem that will affect Catholics thus playing the Catholic against the Hindu bahujan. And hence the Romi supporters are sold to the idea that Nagri Konkani is necessary to check the ‘threat’ of Marathi. The Romi script activists did, however, skirt the contentious issue of MoI by giving a choice between Nagri and Roman scripted Konkani to the parents.

The Romi script activists failed to recognize that for the Romi Konkani supporters English is as important as Romi Konkani in their lives. This bi-lingual requirement was not adequately represented by the Romi Konkani activists, thus missing a golden chance to democratize and expand the scope of language politics for the betterment of all Goans.

I however argue that the Marathi activists also face a similar situation like the Romi Konkani activists, as far as betrayal of their respective language causes is concerned. The Marathi activists could also be seen as compromising with English, and thus ‘betraying’ Marathi. This is quite unfortunate, as Marathi language politics in Goa was not started to further the literary cause of Marathi, but to counter upper-caste, in particular Saraswat, hegemony in Goa. Supporting the cause of English would have also allowed Marathi language activists, especially the bahujan, to challenge oppressive social structures. The Marathi language activists also do not recognize that the Hindu bahujan have aspirations tied to the English language. Another problem that can be seen is the compromise and alliance that a section of Marathi language activists have forged with Hindutva ideologues and/or upper caste ideals.

The alliance between Marathi Rajbhasha Andolan (MRA) and Romi Konkani Andolan (RKA) some years back was arguably a bold move. But it was short-lived. Although these two groups aimed (quite commendably) at creating a unity of Hindu bahujan and Catholics, very little was done to actually forge these bonds on the ground level and assuage the mistrust present in the communities about each other. On a legal and systemic level, MRA had no proper vision of protecting Catholic interests as far as jobs are concerned since the Hindus who know Marathi (and Nagri Konkani) would automatically be more qualified against Catholics who only know Romi Konkani.

Which brings me to what activists in FORCE are trying to do: to my mind it is a rejection of the decades-old and quite often ugly politics in the name of ‘mother tongue’, ‘Konkani’, ‘Goan identity’ etc. What FORCE is doing, by standing up for the right to English as MoI, is democratizing language politics by rejecting the hold of a few class and caste patriarchs. FORCE is rejecting an oppressive model of mono-lingual practices imposed by largely upper-caste activists. In this there is a recognition that as Goans we need at least two languages in our lives. To not publicly accept this will be hypocrisy. To not change quickly will be Goa’s tragedy.

See also other articles on the issue of MoI: on the Supreme Court terming the imposition of 'mother tongue' as MoI as unconstitutional, see here; for an open letter to the Goan government's advisory committee on MoI, see here.

(First published in  O Heraldo, dt: 5 August, 2015)

READING REGINALD: THE IMPORTANCE OF AFRICA

African gold, ivory, and other riches figure significantly in Reginald Fernandes’ literary imagination. Though Africa was a place of unending wealth, it was also simultaneously a place of danger and adventure within the Konkani romans. The recurrent and frequent references to Africa were not accidental. There was a particular reason why Africa figured so prominently in the Konkani romans. Taking Reginald’s novel Fidelis (1965) as a base, we can address the issue of the importance of Africa to writers of romans and dwell on the impact it had on the gender roles process.

The primary reason why Africa featured so prominently in the imagination of writers during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was due to the large-scale migration of Goans, particularly to East Africa. As a result, stories about and from that continent had freely circulated in Goa. The fact of large-scale migration to East Africa is well attested by Silvia M. de Mendonça-Noronha in her essay, “The Economic Scene in Goa, 1926-1961” (1990). Mendonça-Noronha states that emigration “crucially affected the Goan economy throughout the last two centuries of the Portuguese rule and its impact was very distinctly felt in the period under discussion (1926-61). Most of the emigrants were Christians, especially the ones to East Africa. The basic cause of emigration was excessive pressure of the population on agriculture and the lack of other avenues of employment, thus giving few job opportunities to the local people. They left to find jobs for better prospects elsewhere” (p. 282).

Fidelis fits neatly into the abovementioned pattern of migration to East Africa. The plot opens in Bombay where the hero of the novel Joel D’Souza is nearly done packing his bags for his journey from Bombay to Goa the next day. Having completed his studies, Joel is eagerly looking forward to come back to Goa and to his grandmother. When Joel is about to go to sleep in the night, he hears someone knocking on his door. On opening the door, Joel finds a man trying to escape his attackers. It so turns out that this man is one named Gabriel Pontis, who landed in Bombay from Africa. Fearing for his life Gabriel hands over a small box to Joel, begging him to deliver it to his daughter who lives in Goa. Gabriel’s life is in danger as someone else covets his ancestral wealth that is buried in Gabriel’s ancestral house. The small box that Gabriel hands over to Joel is the key to this buried treasure, and the whole novel is a delightful cat-and-mouse chase to possess the contents of the little box. Thus, as in in real life, migration to East Africa, and the locations of Goa, Bombay, and Africa are knit together in the novel.

Being from Bardez himself, Reginald would have witnessed the migration and also would have heard the many stories about Africa from those who returned to Goa. In a place like Siolim, Reginald’s hometown, such stories about African wealth were aplenty. Shortly after the much publicized 101st birth anniversary celebrations, Reginald’s sister-in-law, Mathilda D’Souza, informed me that he was particularly curious about these stories emanating from Africa, and would indeed rework them in his novels. Thus, the stories of Africa circulating in and around Siolim were grist to the novelist’s writing-mill!

Another important way Africa and migration is connected with Reginald’s oeuvre is through the absence of father-figures in the life of the male protagonists in many of his novels. The male protagonist either has a widowed mother or an ageing grandmother. But on the other hand, the female protagonist always has a father. It can be suggested that migration was a cause for the absence of father-figures in Reginald’s novels. In a similar vein, the portrayal of the male protagonist in Fidelis is no exception. In this novel, Joel’s father is dead, too!

In the course of a discussion, after the 101st birth anniversary celebrations in Siolim, Joel D’Souza, the Assagao-based journalist who was one of the main persons in the organization of the celebrations, suggested that almost every house in Bardez had a person who had migrated to Africa. In particular, the head of the household would generally migrate to Africa. Though the absence of the father or father-figure is portrayed through the death of the patriarch in the novelist’s writing, one can see how the reality of Goa affected by economic constraints and migration had such a huge impact on the portrayal of gender roles in Romi Konkani literature that was not confined to the oeuvre of Reginald.

In the end, one can suggest that the economic reality and lack of job opportunities which led to migration to East Africa created a certain template of portrayal of male and female protagonists in Reginald’s novels. On the one hand, the male protagonist having no father or father-figure to protect him could be the real hero – a self made man – by dint of his own strength, sincerity, and a little bit of luck. While on the other hand, the female protagonist is always in constant need of male protection, though she exercises her own agency in the choice of her life partner. 

While the migration to Africa can be seen as shaping gender roles in Reginald’s novels, what we can also profitably do is to look at this corpus of literature to talk about the actual gender roles in Goa, impacted by this very migration.

My thanks to (the real life) Joel D’Souza and Mathilda D’Souza.

For more Reading Reginald, click here.

(First published in  O Heraldo, dt: 22 July, 2015)

CANTARAM AS COMMENTARY ON GOAN POLITICS

Francis de Tuem has a peculiar voice – a mix of guttural and nasal tones that are not always associated with famous singers. Personally, I thought it was a bit strange that he could be a singer when I first heard some of his songs. But when one listens to his sharp political and social critique one instantly realizes why he is such a runaway hit. Known for his irreverently bold songs, Tuem also displays an acute sense of logical reasoning while singing about Goan politics. Hence, one simply had to find out why his latest tiatr Reporter, is a huge hit.

More than the plot, this tiatr derives most of its strength as a bold performance on stage from the songs sung by Tuem. While the main plot revolves around a journalist Anita, who acts as an ombudsman in a political setup that is riddled with corruption and dishonesty, most of the songs tackle the recent political controversies in Goa and the rest of India head-on such as the ‘ghar wapasi’ issue, or the attacks on Christian institutions, the ban on beef, and so on and so forth. The political cantaram in tiatrs are not simply forms of protests, but are also sincere pleas for a change in the way things function in society. In this context, Tuem’s tiatr and the songs he sings in it are no exception.

Though Tuem’s critique of Goan politics is significantly different, there are areas where this critique displays problems. I would like to discuss this with reference to some of his songs. First and foremost, there is a precise and logical manner in which Tuem crafts his songs. The first song that Tuem sang had a bit about the beef ban controversy. That Tuem is no ordinary composer and singer of political songs was proven by his bold reference to a seminal paper that Dr. B. R. Ambedkar wrote on the beef-eating food habits of brahmins in the Vedic times. Such a reference is reassuring as the intellectual stream from which Tuem relies on for mounting a critique of Goan politics is based on a solid premise – one that is firmly lodged within anti-caste struggles of South Asia.

Another important issue that was highlighted through the songs was the controversy of ‘ghar wapasi’. Through the ritual of ‘ghar wapasi’ Hindu-groups have sought to convert Christian, Muslim, and Dalit groups to Hinduism. In his songs, Tuem makes two crucial statements. The first is related to the manner in which the caste hierarchy operates within Hindu temples, which has continued to exclude the so-called ‘lower-caste’ from equal access to temples. Hence, Tuem counter argues, that assuming Christians (or other groups) convert back into Hinduism, what is the guarantee that such ‘re-converts’ will be allowed equal access to Hindu temples?

The second important point that he makes in relation to the ‘ghar wapasi’ episode is regarding the so-called ‘forced conversions’. For those who have been reading and listening about the ‘ghar wapasi’ controversy over the last few months, one of the reasons cited in favor of ‘ghar wapasi’ was that all conversions to Christianity and Islam were ‘forced’, thus justifying this so-called ‘homecoming’. But Tuem’s sensitive and critical understanding of Goan history allows him to make a crucial distinction between those who converted in the sixteenth- and seventeenth-centuries and the Christians in Goa today. Tuem makes the argument that while one of his ancestors had converted, all the generations down the line cannot be termed as ‘converts’. This is true for a lot of Goan Christians today. Though this seems to be a simple and common-sensical point, it escapes so many of us in Goa and India – that today’s Catholics are born into the religion and therefore cannot be termed as converts.

But the cherry on the cake came in the form of Tuem’s bold assertion wherein he forcefully asserted that if he is a Christian today it is solely due to his own wish and devotion. This, we can suggest is a logical culmination for all those who recognize that all conversions were not ‘forced’ and that there is an element of caste that always plays a part in conversion movements whether in Goa or elsewhere. While the many Hindu groups were busy in trying to convince the nation that converts had no agency and mind of their own, Tuem’s assertion allows us to see that this is not the case. In fact, through this song Tuem can be said to create a language through which minoritized groups can respond to attempts at appropriating their histories.

The sense that one gets from the songs and the plot of Reporter is that individual honesty and sincerity is projected as the panacea for all ills. Emphasis is also placed on institutions like the media who act as whistleblowers and guardians of the truth in a similar context. However, one needs to be a bit circumspect about arguments and visions that place the onus and responsibility of smooth and efficient functioning of politics and governance on a few individuals and institutions. What this ultimately means is that power to decide the fates of others have to be concentrated in the hands of a few, and this indeed can be detrimental to democracy. But this is not how it is supposed to be. Power needs to be shared as equitably as possible with all constituent elements in a polity.

The faith and trust reposed in a few individuals and institutions is a problem in Reporter, and calls for careful re-thinking. That aside, while Tuem should rightly revel in the success of his tiatr and his cantaram, it is also time to recognize that the very structure and form of the Goan tiatr allows a certain empowerment of the Goan people. The structure and form of the tiatr not only allows space for political dissent, but in its core is highly politicized. Hence, if articulated properly, tiatr and its cantaram are effective forms of sharp political and social commentary.

(First published in  O Heraldo, dt: 8 July, 2015)